


Breaking Point

by helsinkibaby



Series: Dark Horses [10]
Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M, Het, Love Triangles, Romance, trigger warning: mentions of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-30
Updated: 2002-08-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:23:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1567748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's got a breaking point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Point

  
With a sigh, Sam leaned back in his chair and clicked the "save" icon, before raising his hand to his eyes and rubbing as hard as he could. A thirty page position paper being thrown on your desk, with orders to summarise it into two pages, when it wasn't a subject with which you were familiar, was no joke, and it was even less of a joke when you were given two hours in which to do it. Nonetheless, he'd put his head down, he'd worked hard on it, and it was now done, ready for tomorrow morning's meeting. In the meantime, his head felt like it had been stuck in a vice, his eyes felt like there were a thousand tiny grains of sand embedded in them, and he was so tired that the idea of lying down on the floor and falling fast asleep was mightily tempting.

He might even have given in to that temptation, were it not for the fact that a greater temptation just at that moment happened by his door. Rather, she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a knowing grin on her face as he looked up and met her gaze. "Did you get it done?" she asked him without preamble, and because it was her, he smiled at the question.

"If you want the impossible done, just ask for me," he informed her, and she laughed at that, moving into the office.

"The next time CJ has ten press passes and fifty reporters looking for one, I'll keep that in mind," she told him, dropping down into his visitor's chair. "Does this mean we can go home now?"

He cocked his head, looking at her curiously. "You don't have to wait for me to head home," he pointed out logically. "I could have met you there."

She shifted in her seat slightly, a guilty smile on her face. "Well, I could have…" she acknowledged. "But that's no fun…"

He raised an eyebrow at that, leaning back even further in his chair, his mind conjuring up all kinds of images to go along with that statement. "Oh really?" She didn't say anything, just blushed scarlet, which added several new and interesting layers to his thoughts. "And just what did you have in mind Miss Reilly?"

She shrugged her shoulders exaggeratedly, affecting innocence, but there was a lascivious sparkle in her eyes that belied her body language. "Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something…" she drawled, eyes never leaving his.

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a familiar voice calling his name. "Hey Sam," were Josh's first words as he bounded in the office door. "Oh, hey Carol."

"Hey Josh." Carol smiled up at him.

Sam's reception was by no means as cordial. "If this is about the memo, it's done, and I'm done, and any revisions, you can do yourself."

Josh stopped dead, rubbing his forehead in confusion. "No, that's fine, I trust you. Listen…" He paused for a second, looking down at Carol, then back to Sam. "What are you up to now?"

Sam's gaze flicked from Josh to Carol and back. "Nothing. We were just heading out. You need something?"

"Toby and I are going out for drinks. To speak as men do. You up for it?"

Once more, Sam looked from his best friend to his girlfriend, torn. "I'm not sure Josh… maybe another night."

Josh closed his eyes tight, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "With all due respect Sam…and no offence Carol…" The lady in question waved her hand to indicate that she didn't mind in the least. "You've said that the last half-dozen times we've gone out."

Sam chuckled to himself. "And I wonder why that is."

Josh, having had no luck with Sam, turned his attention, and his not inconsiderable charm, to Carol. "C'mon Carol…you can let him off the leash for one night, can't you?"

Carol's eyes widened, in what Sam knew well was an expression of mock innocence. "Well, I certainly wouldn't want to interrupt your male bonding…" she said, her voice trailing off at the end, making sure that Sam knew that the ball was firmly in his court.

"You see?" Josh wheeled around to Sam, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "She doesn't mind…"

"But I mind." Sam's voice was firm, and Josh was visibly crestfallen, probably recognising that this was Sam's intransigent voice. "I've just done something that would normally take me five hours in less than two, my head is killing me, I'm practically seeing double, and the thoughts of going into a bar…" He broke off, shaking his head, shutting off his computer. "The only place I'm going is home."

Josh looked as if he was about to say something, but was interrupted by Toby's arrival. He had his coat on, and his bag on his shoulder, and he didn't come into the office, just stood outside the threshold. "Are we going?"

Josh threw his hands up to Heaven. "I am…but Sam's heading home." There was an awful lot of disgust in those words, but Sam knew that it was meant in jest. He was however, interested in what Toby's response would be.

Toby merely looked at the two of them, then rather pointedly down at Carol. "Well, I can't say as I blame him," was all he said, but there was a twinkle in his eyes, and the tiniest hint of a smile hovering around his lips. Josh blew air out between his lips, and Sam chuckled, noticing how Carol dipped her head quickly, the better to hide another flush of red that was creeping up her cheeks. "C'mon," Toby added, motioning to Josh with a wave of his arm. "Let's go."

"Fine, fine…" Josh followed him out of the office and down the corridor, and both Sam and Carol could hear him muttering imprecations about men who'd forgotten who their friends were, and who were well and truly whipped by their girlfriends. Sam was chuckling as he began to organise his desk, but Carol was looking out into the bullpen, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Hey Sam, has Ginger left already?"

Sam frowned, trying to remember when last he'd seen the redheaded assistant, but he drew a blank. "I don't know…she didn't tell me if she was, but then she never does. Is her computer still on?"

Carol took a couple of steps to the door, craning her neck to see the desk. "No. Her coat's gone too."

"Well then, she's gone," Sam pronounced, but when he saw the look on Carol's face, he regretted his glib tone. "How's she doing?" He remembered all too well the events of a couple of weeks ago, when he'd walked in on a deep and meaningful conversation between Carol and Ginger, that had Ginger crying on Carol's couch, and Carol crying in his arms later on. He'd never found out what the conversation was about, but he'd been keeping an eye out on both ladies ever since. Today though, things had been so hectic that he hadn't had a chance to see how Ginger was.

"I don't know," Carol replied, frowning. "Sometimes she seems fine…but then other times…" She broke off, shaking her head. "I don't know," she repeated.

Sam sighed, hardly able to believe what he was going to suggest. "Look, why don't you call her. She can come over, we'll get a video, some take-out…it might do her good."

Carol was looking at him with an expression of frank amazement, and considering their conversation mere minutes ago, he wasn't so sure that he blamed her. "You really mean that?"

He forced a smile to his face. "Sure."

Carol smiled softly at him, coming over and kissing his lips quickly. "Thank you," she whispered before picking up the phone. She pressed in the number quickly, listening, jiggling her head from side to side in time with the rings. Then her head stilled and she frowned, looking up at Sam in dissatisfaction. "Answering machine," she mouthed. Then, "Hey Ginger, it's Carol. Sam and I are just leaving the office now, and we were wondering where you were; we thought you might like to come over for a while… we'll be at my place if you want to join us, or you can just give me a call when you get this…and if not, I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Bye."

When she hung up, she turned back to Sam with a shrug. "I guess it's just you and me."

He tried to keep his grin back, but didn't think that he quite succeeded. "Well, I'm sure we'll think of something…."

>*<*>*<

Think of something he did, acting out some of his thoughts from earlier on in the evening. No sooner were they in the door than he was kissing Carol, pushing her coat from her shoulders and pressing her up against the wall. Not, he noted, that she was at all reticent about responding; indeed, she was making short work of his own jacket and tie, making noises that indicated she was a more than willing accomplice to his plans. Unfortunately, his stomach hadn't been clued into his plans, and it let loose with a loud growling noise that had the two of them collapsing in laughter.

"Come on," Carol told him, trying to move past him to get to the kitchen. "I'll fix us some sandwiches."

"Don't do that on my account," he murmured, grabbing her by the waist, pressing kisses into her neck.

"Now Sam, you have to keep your strength up," she laughed. "Otherwise, you'll be no good to me later on."

"Promises, promises," Sam muttered, but he followed her into the kitchen anyway.

"You know, you could have gone out with Josh and Toby," she called back to him over her shoulder. "I wouldn't have minded." She opened the fridge door, peering into it thoughtfully. "You can have either ham or ham on your sandwich."

"Ham's fine," he told her with a chuckle. "And the last thing I wanted to do tonight was go out with Josh and Toby."

"I'm just saying," she shrugged, reaching into one of the cupboards and pulling out some bread. "You don't have to come home with me. If you feel the urge to speak as men do…"

Her voice trailed off when he came up behind her, resting his hands on her hips and placing a kiss on the side of her neck. "I want to come home with you," he reminded her. "You think I'd rather spend my time in a smoky, crowded bar, getting ripped with Josh and Toby, when I could come here and eat ham sandwiches, and cuddle on the couch with you?"

"Good answer," she giggled, putting the sandwich together as best she could, considering he didn't show any signs of letting her go. But neither, Sam reflected, did she show any signs of displeasure at the way they were standing, so he stayed where he was. "But for future reference…"

"If I ever feel the need to speak as men do, I will feel free to indulge," he promised her. "There were just some other things I wanted to indulge in tonight…" He let his voice trail off salaciously, and she turned to look at him, a smirk on her face.

"Oh really?"

"Yes really," he murmured before he kissed her again.

She was the one who pulled away, patting his side gently. "C'mon, time to eat."

He knew when he was whipped, so he shrugged his shoulders with a theatrical sigh. "Yes Ma'am."

"That's what I like to hear," she laughed, going back to the fridge and taking out a carton of orange juice. "Can you get me two glasses please?"

He took the glasses down without a word; he'd been on his way to do it anyway. "Can I ask you something?"

She looked at him strangely, but she nodded, setting down the carton on the counter and leaning back against it expectantly. "Sure."

"You talk to the other women in the West Wing." He put the glasses down near her, lifting up the carton and beginning to pour.

"Yes…." She drew out the word, her way of asking him what the hell he was talking about.

"And you talk about me, right?"

"Occasionally." Her voice was slightly teasing, but his wasn't.

"Do they think that I'm a sexist?"

She blinked, then stared at him for a moment longer before she closed her eyes and began laughing. "Oh no…" she said, shaking her head.

"It's a serious question Carol," he protested, frowning at her as he put the carton back in the refrigerator.

"It's really not."

"I'm just wondering if the prevailing sentiment around the West Wing is that I'm sexist, or chauvinistic in any way, shape or form. Because I don't think I am…" He was lifting his plate and glass as he was talking, moving towards the living room. "However, certain recent events may be making me re-evaluate myself, and I was hoping for your input."

She sat down on the couch beside him, still shaking her head and trying to hold in her laughter. "You can't still be worrying about that."

He shrugged. "I'm not a sexist, and I don't like being told…"

"Sam, you're not a sexist. We all know that about you. Besides Ainsley wasn't offended," she pointed out, before narrowing her eyes. "Although as your girlfriend, I want to know what you were doing flirting with another woman…" Her voice trailed off and he looked up sharply, wondering if she was kidding, or if she really meant it, and finding it impossible to tell.

"You have to know," he began, erring on the side of caution, remembering her insecurity when Lisa had come to town during the State of the Union address. "That it was just an off-the-cuff remark, a compliment. There was no deep meaning behind it; I just thought that she looked very nice in that dress…" He stopped talking when he realised that she was trying to keep back her giggles. "You're just playing with me now, aren't you?" Once again, she kept a straight face as she nodded. "You did that whole thing just to play with me." Another nod. "That's not very nice."

"Just remember that the next time you flirt with some-one!" Her voice went up an octave or three at the end, the result of him pouncing on her, his hands going to her midriff, where he knew that she was most ticklish, pressing her back on the couch as she wriggled and shrieked with laughter. "Sam! Stop it!"

"Or what?" he asked archly, not stopping in the least. She was laughing too hard for words, and he was finding it hard to keep his own laughter back. "Are you going to do that again?"

"No…I promise…oh Sam, stop!" Once he'd extracted that promise from her, he stilled his hands, letting them rest on her hips, watching her as the laughter faded from her face. She was lying back on the couch, him on top of her, and he saw the realisation of where they were dawn on her face. She smiled up at him, and that was when he lowered his lips to hers, his hands busily working to pull her blouse from her skirt. Her hands were just as busy, unbuttoning his shirt, and that was when the phone began to ring.

She pulled away from him, trying to get up, but he didn't move. "Let the machine get it," he murmured, not giving her any incentive at all to move.

"It might be important…" she objected, but without any real conviction.

"They'll call back…" he promised, and their lips met again.

Neither one showed any sign of moving; that is, until the voice from the answering machine filled the apartment.

"Carol? It's me…are you there?"

It was Ginger's voice, but it wasn't the voice that they normally associated with her, the sassy, confident voice that certainly Sam was used to hearing. Carol had probably heard this kind of voice from her before, but never this bad, certainly if the speed by which she pulled away from him was anything to go by.

"I know you're probably with Sam…you're probably not even home now…" Her voice, none too clear, in fact, slightly slurred, caught on a sob. "But I've done something…and I think it's something I shouldn't have done..."

"Is she drunk?" Sam asked, as Carol pushed him off her, crossing the room to the phone, grabbing it up.

"Ginger?" She spoke urgently into the receiver. "Ginger, it's Carol…what have you done?" She paused, to let the woman on the other end speak, shaking her head, her brow furrowed. "Ginger, I can't understand you…you have to speak…Ginger…Ginger…" Sam went to stand beside her, one hand on her elbow, beginning to get worried. "I can't make out what she's saying," she told him.

Sam reached out, taking the phone from her. "Ginger, it's Sam. Are you at home?" He listened for a couple of seconds. "She's at home," he nodded to Carol. "Listen to me Ginger…Ginger, you have to listen to me…we're on our way over there now. I need you to hang up the phone, and then I'll call you on my cell. You'll be talking to Carol. Can you do that?" Carol was already grabbing his jacket, throwing at him and taking his cell phone from the pocket, dialling the number even as he was hanging up, before dialling another number. "Yeah…I need an ambulance."

"It's ringing," she told him. "She's picked up."

He spoke as quickly as possible to the operator, giving her Ginger's address, hanging up when she told him that the ambulance was being dispatched. He didn't have to think twice about what he should do next. "C'mon," he said to Carol, who still had his cell to her ear, talking to Ginger. He shrugged on his jacket and found his keys in the other pocket. "Let's go."

They drove as fast as they could through the streets of Washington, Carol directing Sam as best she could while talking to Ginger at the other end. They were a couple of streets away from Ginger's apartment when she turned to him near tears. "She's not talking anymore Sam…"

"We're almost there." His jaw was clenched tight, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, but he let go with his right hand, reaching over and taking hers. "It's going to be ok."

She squeezed his hand, but she didn't say anything, because it was just then that they were turning into Ginger's street, and they could both see the ambulance already there. Carol barely waited for the car to stop before jumping out, and Sam was sure that he was parked illegally when he did stop, but he didn't really care. He followed Carol up the steps into the building, running up the stairs behind her, every bit of breath in his body disappearing when he saw the paramedics in Ginger's living room, bending over a motionless body lying prone on the couch. "Ginger!" she cried, and one of the paramedics looked up.

"You can't come in here Ma'am," he told her, but Carol wasn't taking any notice of him.

"Ginger, what have you done?" she asked, her eyes taking in her friend's body, the bottle of whiskey and the pill bottles on the coffee table. "Ginger!"

By now, tears were streaming down her face, and Sam stepped up behind her, putting his arms around her. "We're friends of hers," he explained. "She called us, we're the ones who called you. How is she?"

The paramedics talked as they worked. "She'll be a lot better once we get her to a hospital, that's for sure."

"Is she going to be ok?" Carol sobbed.

"We hope so Ma'am. If you could just step back please…"

Sam pulled her back, wrapping his arms even tighter around her. Her own arms were around his waist, squeezing so tightly that he could barely breathe, not that he cared. He was far too worried about Ginger, and they watched the paramedics go about their business without talking.

Once they had her on a stretcher, Carol reached up and wiped her face. "I want to go with her. Can I do that?"

The paramedics exchanged a glance, and Sam was all ready to break in and insist on it when one of them, the same one who had answered all their questions, nodded. "I don't see a problem with that. Sir, you'll have to follow us though."

"That's fine," Sam nodded. "Where are you taking her?"

"GW."

A shudder went through Sam as he recalled another long night that he'd spent in that place, but he pushed the memory aside, following the paramedics out, walking past the staring people in the hallways, his fingers intertwined with Carol's. She turned to him as they were putting Ginger into the ambulance, and he cupped her face in his hands, kissing her quickly. "I'll be right behind you," he promised and she nodded. The terror was clear in her eyes and he pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. "It's going to be ok," he told her again, and he closed his eyes quickly, praying that he was telling her the truth.

The journey to GW, although short, was one of the longest trips that he'd ever known, and it seemed like it took forever before he found a parking space. He ran into the waiting room, looking around for Carol, but he heard her before he saw her. "Sam!" She called his name and he turned to face her. She threw herself into his arms, and he held on to her tightly.

"Is there any word?"

She shook her head. "They took her back there." She pointed to a set of double doors, stepping away from him slightly to do so. "She was so pale Sam…I've never seen anyone so pale…"

"C'mon, let's sit down." Sam was looking down at Carol, worried about her as much as he was about Ginger. He'd seen Ginger, seen her pallor, but to his unbiased eye, Carol was just as pale, and she was shaking from head to foot. Ginger was in the best hands, he knew that, but Carol was his responsibility, and he didn't mean to let her down. He wrapped one arm around her, letting her head rest on his shoulder, his other hand wrapped in both of hers. He didn't know what to say to her, so he just settled for stroking her hair, waiting for her to speak.

When she finally did, her voice was so low that he had to ask her to repeat herself. "What?" he said, pulling back from her slightly so that he could see her face.

Once again, her voice was low, but this time, he could make sense of what she was saying from the movement of her lips. "This is what Jimmy was talking about."

Just because he heard it didn't mean he understood it. "What?" he asked again, growing more worried about her by the second.

"Jimmy." She repeated her brother's name, in a strange, detached tone that Sam had never heard from Carol before, and would be very happy never to again. Carol's brother had visited the previous weekend, and they'd had one very unpleasant dinner together on Saturday night. He'd been late, held up with the UN speech, Jimmy had been hostile, and after Sam had left, he and Carol had had a huge fight. Sam didn't know many of the details, but he couldn't forget how Carol had arrived unannounced and unexpected at his place and how she'd woken him up and cried in his arms. She had told him that they'd reached an understanding, and they'd met on the Sunday afternoon for lunch before Jimmy had gone back to Baltimore. Things had gone much better for them on the second meeting; they'd even discovered some common ground. However, Sam was pretty sure that that wasn't what was on Carol's mind now.

"When he was here, he told me about that night."

That Night. The night that Carol hardly ever talked about, the one that he'd only found about by accident on New Year's Eve, when he helped her put on a bracelet that had fallen and seen the scars on her wrist. She'd run, and he'd followed her, telling him the whole story when she realised that he wasn't going anywhere. He'd taken her hand, amazed at what she'd gone through, amazed that he hadn't known anything about it, and it had been when they heard the revellers inside counting down to the New Year that he'd kissed her for the first time. They'd scarcely spent a night apart since, but he knew that by and large, That Night - he always thought if it in capitals for some reason - was off limits. They talked around it occasionally, but never about it directly, and he knew that it was the same in her family.

"I was so mad at him Sam…I was screaming at him, asking him when he was going to stop treating me like I was sixteen. He told me that it'd happen when he stopped seeing me lying on the bathroom floor in a pool of my own blood." Sam's stomach turned over, the image all too clear in his mind. "He told me about my parents, and how they felt… and how Tess and Melissa and Davy cleaned up the bathroom while they were in the hospital… he burned his clothes when he got home. I never knew all that."

"It was a long time ago," Sam told her gently, trying to get through to her, but he might as well have saved his breath. Carol wasn't looking at him; her gaze fixed on the white tiles of the waiting room.

"He told me that he knew that I was in trouble…that he could see that I wasn't myself. He said that he felt guilty about it; that he should have done more to help me." Her voice broke on a sob, and she looked at Sam, tears in her eyes, her eyelashes jet black from moisture and mascara, sticking together in clumps. "I never knew it felt like this."

"Carol, this wasn't your fault," he whispered, cupping her cheek in his palm. "There was nothing you could have done…"

"Yes there was!" Her voice rose again, much as it had earlier in the night when they were wrestling on her couch, and Sam could hardly believe that that had only been an hour or so ago. It seemed like another lifetime. "Don't you see Sam? I knew that she wasn't handling things. I could see that she wasn't the Ginger that we all know…I should have done more, I should have talked to her more…Sam, if something… if she…" A fresh round of sobs choked her, and he pulled her back into his embrace, holding her tightly.

"This wasn't your fault," he repeated, hoping that she might take this in on some level. "You did the best you could…there's no way you could have known that she was going to do something like this." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I will not let you beat yourself up over this, do you hear me?"

There was a noise from her, muffled by his shoulder, that might have been agreement, but he wasn't inclined to argue the point with her. He just held her, and let her cry.

>*<*>*<

Time, he would later reflect, had no meaning when you were sitting in a hospital waiting room. Due to the events at Rosslyn, he'd known that, but it was a very different matter now than it had been then. Then, there had been updates on the manhunt, on how the events were being played on the news, and what the repercussions were. This time, there was none of that; just him and Carol sitting in the waiting room. He'd offered a couple of times to go for coffee for her, but she'd just shaken her head and tightened her grip on his hand, unwilling to let him go even for a moment.

Neither of them knew how long it was before a doctor came over to them. "Excuse me… you're the couple who came in with Ginger Brady, correct?"

"That's right," Sam answered, because while Carol had stood when she saw the doctor coming, her vocal cords had apparently stopped working. "How is she?"

"She's going to be fine," were the first words the doctor said, and Sam didn't hear much after that. Carol sagged against him, his grip on her waist the only thing holding her up, and he lowered her down to the chair again, sitting down with her. The doctor pulled up another chair, giving them a second to compose themselves before he spoke again. "We're going to bring her up to a room in a little while, and we'll keep her in for observation." He paused, rubbing a hand over his head. "We're also going to have her talk to somebody…" he began, adding quickly, "It's standard in cases like this."

Sam was nodding, and Carol looked up. "Can we see her?"

"Once she's moved to the room," the doctor promised before moving away. "I'll make sure someone tells you when she's ready."

"Thank you," Sam called after him, a wave of acknowledgement being his only reply. He turned his attention back to Carol then, turning her to face him, pushing her hair back from her face. "You ok?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "Thank God…" she muttered. "Thank God." She hugged him again then, resting her head on his shoulder before straightening up with a gasp. "Sam, we've got to call someone."

He frowned. "Who?"

"Someone from the office…" Carol's voice trailed off, searching for a clock. "We have to tell them that Ginger won't be in…"

"OK, calm down…" Sam rested both his hands on her shoulders. "Who do we call?"

She closed her eyes, and he could almost see her running through a mental checklist. Then her eyes opened again, and he could see clarity returning to them. "CJ," she said, and he nodded.

"OK. Let's go." She still hadn't let go of his hand, nor would she, which made dialling the pay phone a little awkward, but he managed somehow, wincing when he heard CJ's sleepy voice answering the phone. He'd called her in the early hours of the morning before, and it was never pretty. "CJ, it's me."

"Spanky, it's the middle of the night." CJ sounded as annoyed as he might have expected. "I swear, this had better be important or I'm going to take this phone and-"

"CJ, I'm at GW."

Those few words had the desired effect of silencing CJ, and when she spoke again she sounded far more alert, and also far more alarmed. "Is it Carol?" was her first question, and Sam shook his head, glancing over at his girlfriend.

"It's Ginger," he whispered.

"What happened?" CJ's voice was low, with just a hint of panic barely held in check.

"She took some pills…washed them down with whiskey. CJ, she tried to kill herself." At his words, the first time he'd given voice to what had happened, he heard a moan from the woman beside him and she covered her face with her hand.

"Is she…"

"The doctor said she's going to be fine…they're moving her to a room now. Look CJ, I'm sorry to do this to you, but can you…"

"Of course." CJ sighed, and Sam could imagine her running through a list of scenarios in her mind. "It's almost time to go into work anyway, I'll ring everyone and get them to come in, round them up and tell them…"

Sam was nodding on his end of the phone. "Can you tell Leo that Carol and I-"

"Of course," CJ said again. "I'll clear it with Leo, but that won't be a problem. How is Carol?"

"She's ok." Sam was pretty much lying through his teeth, and he had a feeling CJ knew it too, but he was fairly sure that she wouldn't call him on it.

"You take care of her, do you hear me Spanky?" It was an order, not a question, and Sam nodded again.

"Yes Ma'am."

"And call me if there's any news."

"I will. Bye."

He drew Carol into another hug when he hung up the phone. "She'll round everyone up," he told her. "And we're ok to stay here."

"What do we do now?" Carol asked him, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

He sighed, looking up to the ceiling. "We wait." 


End file.
